Spite of Pride
by Jayne Foyer
Summary: Sometime after Batman: Leviathan Strikes, Talia is forced to hear some sense about her actions, and Jason is forced to make a decision.


There is a silence. It is not uncomfortable, but neither of them relaxes completely either. She is sharply aware of his presence, of the space his body occupies, of the gentle sounds of his breath and the way his body is almost-but-not-quite still. Her eyes don't go searching for his, they don't wander their way around to his body, that body she knows tragically well. His eyes, on the other hand, bore into her skull. They press on her. They accuse her. It fills her with a burning, but she won't allow it, she will _not_ allow it, not from this stupid, irresponsible, insolent little-

She turns around in her seat to face him, and she doesn't smile. "Say it," she says. "I know you're waiting for the right moment. Just say it."

And then their eyes meet, and neither flinches away. He regards her for a moment, then shrugs. "Fine," he says, and he stands up straight, and his hand almost instinctually goes to his hip, brushes against his gun, as if reassuring himself it's there. "I _get_ that you're pissed. Believe me, I know that." He pauses. "But what I'm not understanding is how this little plan of yours is acceptable at _all_."

She returns the look, then turns again. "That is very much like you, Jason," she says. "To not understand, that is."

"No, no, hold on a second. You're not gonna brush me off like that. Jesus, it's like you've finally gone off the _deep end_ or something. Do you realize what you're doing? Of course you do, you're a genius, I get that, but come on now, I see _right_ through you."

She says nothing.

He is suddenly right behind her, his hands brushing gently through her hair, across her shoulders. "You're scared," he murmurs. "You have no control over him anymore and it terrifies you."

She pulls away from his touch. "It doesn't matter anymore," she replied, irritated now. "This was a failed experiment, nothing more. Next time will be better."

"No," answers Jason, almost lightly. "A _failed experiment_ is when the fertilization doesn't take. Or when the biotube fails. Or hell, when the kid shoots his face off during training. That would be a failed experiment. This? We're talking about murder right here. Not any old murder, you know how good I usually am with those. But this is murdering your own damn son, Talia. Your own damn flesh and blood. Are you _really_ prepared to do that?"

"Don't doubt me," she says coldly. "I do what I must."

There was another short silence as Jason considered this. And then he said, "No. There's no _must_ here. Your son isn't doing what you want him to do and, for that, you're going to shut him down. Permanently."

"Son?" she almost laughs, derision in her voice, painted on her face. "He was a prototype. No more."

"That is bullshit," sighs Jason.

"Don't," says Talia, and she turns to look at him again and there is a depth, a heaviness to her voice, and something in her eyes that he's hardly _ever_ seen. "Don't presume you know me," she says to him dangerously. "I cared for you. Don't abuse my trust."

"Or what?" asks Jason. "You'll put a bounty on my head as well?"

It happens before Jason even has time to think about a reaction; a crashing blow to the jaw, a straight jab in the kneecap, and his back hurtles to the floor, colliding forcefully, the impact knocking the air from his lungs.

She is on her feet, her eyes burning.

"Don't," she utters, through gritted teeth, "patronize me."

A silence. Jason stands again, wipes his mouth, never taking his eyes from her.

"Your concern for the boy confuses me," she tells him. "Weren't you the one who once sat back and watched him get so riddled with bullets, we had to replace his spine?"

"No," answers Jason. "That was Dickie-bird. I probably would have stopped it, given the chance."

She turns her head away. She doesn't even want to look at him.

Jason closes his eyes, and then he asks, softer now: "Why are you doing this?"

She doesn't answer right away. Then: "I don't want to play this game any longer."

"What game? The one where your son continually does the exact opposite of what you want him to do? That's not a game, Talia, as I understand that's actually just called _parenting_."

"As if you know would know anything about this."

"You're right, I don't," he concedes mildly. "I do, however, know what it feels like to die by the fault of a parent. Not necessarily by the hand of, that's kicking it up a notch, but still. You get the general idea."

"Yes," replies Talia, "but clearly you don't."

He pauses, looking at her. She doesn't elaborate, and Jason asks, "Care to explain that one, or are we just going to leave that hanging?"

Talia sits. She turns back to her computer, to her work, types in a few letters, and then says, without turning her head: "The Batman has only ever been defeated once, you stupid, beautiful boy. I thought you would have come to this conclusion."

Jason doesn't quite move. He doesn't like this.

"I need a defeat," she continues. "I need to see him drowned, to see him lost, to see him – I need to see his _tears_, Jason, you should understand this. You _must_ understand this. Damian is a necessary sacrifice, for my beloved's sake. The boy can be replaced. The Batman? Never."

Nothing. And then Jason asked, "You _do_ realize how much you've changed, right?"

"I am the same as I have always been," she answers. "Like I said. You don't know me, child."

"No," says Jason, and he walks up to her and places his hands all over the controls and looks at her so powerfully that she is forced to return that magnetic gaze, she is forcefully drawn into all that intensity, and he says, "Don't try to tell _me_ the Pit doesn't change you. I know what it does."

She doesn't reply. She ignores him. He physically wedges himself between her and the computer.

"The things your sister did to you," he continues stubbornly. "You _know_ you've changed. You know you would never have done any of this if not for what she put you through."

"That was years ago."

"You woke me up even before that, and I'm still a crazy son of a bitch."

"The Pit doesn't change you, it only awakens your true nature-"

"Right, right, and I'm sure being shot in the face a million times also '_doesn't change you_.' Is that it?"

Her expression is cold, almost icy. "I should never have told you this," she says quietly.

"Talia," he replies seriously, "I can make a list a mile long of things you _shouldn't_ have done. And let me tell you, telling me definitely does _not_ make the list."

"You don't understand," she says. "Your interest in this is too personal-"

"And yours isn't?" he asks. "This is your son and your lover – well, ex-lover – we're talking about here. It's not as if they're your archenemies or anything." He lowers his voice slightly and adds, "And just between you and me, if they _were_ your archenemies I'd totally let you do it, despite my usual no-hurting-kids policy. What can I say? I just can't say know to you." He bats his eyelashes and smirks, amused at his own antics, and she can't stand him.

There is a long silence. And then she growls, "Get out of my way."

"What, of the computer? Aw, come on babe, don't be like-"

Her hands shoot out. "_Don't_," she heaves him, faster than he anticipated possible, away from her controls and he hits the ground with a loud _thud_, "call me that!"

She meets his eyes for only a second, and then she turns to the computer, and she resumes her usual work.

He stands up. He's still bleeding from the mouth, from where she hit him earlier. "Fine," he says, and she doesn't look up. "You'll keep doing what you're doing. Fine."

He looks around the room, almost helplessly.

"But," he says, "I want you to know that I can't…I can't let some kid _die_ because of him again. I won't let it happen. So if you keep this up, then…" he stops, almost as if he can't force the words out of his mouth, "…then that's it. I'm done with you. I won't be an accomplice in the murder of your son."

She doesn't answer. For a while, he doesn't move, and then slowly, he heads towards the exit. At the door, he pauses and turns back. She types, now busy at work.

"Thank you," he says, and there's more humility in his voice than he intended. "God knows where I'd be without you, Talia. You've given me…more than anybody has. Ever. And don't think I don't appreciate it. I wish you weren't doing this, so I didn't have to leave."

He pauses, his eyes fixed on her hungrily.

"I don't want to leave," he says.

She doesn't even stop typing.

Without another word, he turns and disappears into the darkness, leaving her alone.

When she is certain he is gone, she stops. She lets her hands slide away from the controls before her. She bows her head slightly, and there is an ache in her chest and she can't discern completely _why_ yet, but her throat closes slightly, a wetness wells up in her eyes when it really shouldn't, she's almost embarrassed except for she's alone, and then she closes her eyes.

She closes her eyes and, quietly, she whispers, "_Farewell…beloved_."

* * *

Obviously a few major references to Batman: Death and the Maidens, which everybody should go out and read right now. And I may have twisted and shaped canon a teeny bit, but whatever.

I do love the relationship between Talia and Jason. I don't ship them, per se, but I think they do have a relationship and it's fascinating.

Title from Alexander Pope's Essay On Man, Epistle I, x.


End file.
